


Counting The Days

by ilovemygaydad



Category: Sander Sides, Sanders Sides, Thomas Sanders
Genre: M/M, human!AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-27
Updated: 2019-02-27
Packaged: 2019-11-06 17:49:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 881
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17944301
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ilovemygaydad/pseuds/ilovemygaydad
Summary: summary: roman doesn’t know when--or if--logan will returnwarnings: depression, prison, war, gunshots, death mentions, prisoners of war, food mentions, giving up, kissing, like maybe a couple of swear words, angst with a happy ending, maybe something else





	Counting The Days

**Author's Note:**

> hey y'all. so, as much as it seems like i haven't been writing recently, there's actually a brand new bullet fic on my tumblr! if you want to find it, go to my blog (ilovemygaydad) and search the tag "punk!patton au"! i love you all, and i hope you enjoy this fic :)

One thousand, three hundred seventy-three days.

Logan had been in service for one thousand, three hundred seventy-three days.

No one in his unit had been heard from in two hundred sixty-one of those days.

People always joked about “when will my husband return from the war.”

But Roman was living it.

And it wasn’t likely that his husband would return at all.

* * *

One thousand, three hundred seventy-three days.

Give or take a few dozen.

That’s how long Logan had been away.

Two hundred sixty-one days in captivity.

Give or take.

Logan was one of only a handful of his division to survive the ambush on their camp, but at this point, he almost feels as though death in a war that he hadn’t even wanted to fight in would have been a blessing compared to prison.

His cell was only three feet by three feet and six feet tall. The cement walls and floor were covered in grime and mold and bugs were never scarce. The iron bars on the door were completely rusted. Food was given once a day. Plain bread and a cup of dirty water. It could barely be called water.

Logan knew that he wouldn’t make it out of the prison alive. Each day, he prayed to whatever deity that would listen to just let him say good-bye to Roman. Just to say  _good-bye_. 

It wouldn’t happen.

But Logan could still hope.

* * *

The loud shouting and gunshots jolted Logan from his sleep. He didn’t understand the languages that were being spoken, but he knew that something was happening. A gunshot sounded just a few meters away, and Logan flinched back, pretending to play dead in case it was one of his captors going and killing any alive prisoners. 

Something slammed against the bars of his cell, and it took every ounce of concentration in Logan’s body not to move.

“Es tu vivant?” Another clashing sound.

French. Someone asking if he was alive. 

Holy  _shit_. He was being saved.

Without hesitation, Logan scrambled up, grasping at the rusty bars and thanking fate that he was fluent in French.

“Oui. Aidez-moi, s'il vous plaît.”  _Please, help me._

The soldier swiftly brought the back of their gun down on the door’s lock, and it swung open on squeaky hinges. Tears sprouted up in Logan’s eyes. He was  _free_. He had a chance to go home. He might see Roman again.

He was saved.

* * *

“ _Yesterday, French soldiers recovered seven U.S. prisoners of war who had been taken hostage nearly a year ago and were presumed missing-in-action. Logan Sanders, who was one of the prisoners, described the prison as ‘horrifically unethical and psychologically damaging.’ More information later in the program.”_

Roman didn’t even flinch when his bowl of cereal fell from his hands and shattered on the floor. He stumbled back a few steps in shock.

_Logan was coming home._

Hope had been lost weeks ago. Roman had begun to research support groups for people who lost spouses in war. But Logan was alive, and he was coming home, and they would be able to be together again. 

Roman ran his hands through his greasy, unkempt hair. He could barely wrap his head around everything.

_Logan didn’t die._

* * *

“Flight AA-289: Paris, France to Orlando, Florida has landed. Luggage can be picked up from Baggage Claim number five. Thank you for flying with American Airlines.”

Logan exited the plane as quickly as he physically could. He had no bags except for a small backpack that he’d been given with a bit of money, a passport, and an extra change of clothes before being discharged. Customs were, as per usual, a pain in the ass, but Logan was able to breeze through most of the line thanks to his military service perks. 

(There weren’t many ups to having been drafted into the military, but the airline priorities were pretty great.)

He quickly walked through the airport and down the escalator towards baggage claim. Within twenty seconds, he spotted that stupid red jacket that Roman always wore and ran towards it. Roman must have seen him at the same time because he started to do the same. They slammed together into a hug, and Logan inhaled the sweet smell Roman’s cologne that he had missed so much. His chest heaved as he finally let out the tears that he’d been holding out, sobbing into Roman’s shoulder. They clutched tightly to each other--desperate and needy. They had been apart for four years, and social norms weren’t going to stop them now.

Roman pulled back from the hug, wiping the tears from both his own face and Logan’s. “I missed you so god damn much,” he whispered. “I had almost given up hope that you’d come back.”

“Me too. God, me too.” Logan shook his head and let out a breath.

“I love you so much, my star.”

“Ditto.”

Logan leaned in and gently kissed Roman. It didn’t matter that people were watching. He didn’t care about the disgusted stares pointed at him. Life was too short to not cherish every moment that he had with his husband, and he was going to make those seconds count.

“I know,” Roman said as Logan’s breathing grew shaky again, pulling him into a tight hug. “I know.”


End file.
